


In Like Flynn

by surreallis



Category: Stargate SG-1 RPF
Genre: F/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2019-06-13 23:51:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15376122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreallis/pseuds/surreallis
Summary: Her relationship with Rick has always been complicated, and she refuses to be the next one left behind. (Chris and Michael make an appearance. Hints to Amanda/Michael as well.)





	In Like Flynn

**Author's Note:**

> Note from diana, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Pretty Lights](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Pretty_lights), which closed for financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Pretty Lights collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/prettylights/profile).
> 
> Notes: Thanks to S for the beta! I appreciate it. I do tend to write RPF in a little AU world where spouses and kids aren’t mentioned, or even really exist. Sorry! I know a lot of RPF/S fans find that irritating. It’s just the way I like to explore their relationships. More of a ‘what if’ instead of ‘what is’. At least you were warned. ;)
> 
> Recipient wanted: Richard Dean Anderson /Amanda Tapping- a convention/ or a reunion of some sort.
> 
> Takes place after season 3 but before season 8.

 

"SO!" The young woman--or maybe not so young--grinned at her. Amanda glanced up from signing the autograph and gave her an attentive look. The woman raised her brows expectantly. "What's it like kissing Richard Dean Anderson?"

Amanda smiled and nodded and then told her what she wanted to hear. "Great! He's a great kisser!"

The woman gave a sort of giggle and then thanked her for the autograph. Amanda smiled. It was a question she answered a hundred times a weekend when she was on the con circuit, but to be honest, it was at least one of the easy ones. And she couldn't blame them, really. If she ever got Winona Ryder in a room alone she couldn't really guarantee she wouldn't be demanding to know what it was like to kiss Johnny Depp.

Still... if they only knew.

The party line was always that the whole cast was great friends. And they were. They flirted and had fun and mugged for the cameras, but they also talked and wept and knew each other's faults and weaknesses. And, yeah, the fans saw the kisses behind-the-scenes. They saw the flirtations and the way actors had fun, and they liked it. What they didn't see were the insecurities and the tantrums and the days that no one felt like talking.

And they didn't see the kisses that turned to something else while she and Rick were stowed away behind the green screen waiting for their cues. The ones that started with a playful grin and ended with a wary look. The ones that made her swear in her mind (and she never swore, ever) and suddenly feel as if she'd lost her footing and was slipping quickly toward something... a little frightening.

He'd turn on that charm and give her that look, and those long fingers would dance over her waist or her jaw, and he'd use that soft, teasing voice and say, "C'mon, Amanda... it could be so good."

And, oh Lord, but resistance was futile.

Except she'd known a lot of actors, and she knew Rick. She was also an actress who'd reached her thirties without reaching the pinnacle of fame, the way most of the actresses had that Rick had dated in the past. And she liked to think because of that she'd also managed to retain some good portion of her ego and her sense. And that sense told her, in no uncertain terms, that the moment she put herself in position and let him sweep her off her feet, that it was the beginning of the end. Only a matter of time until she joined the ranks of the broken-hearted. She made no bones about why she refused him, and he teased her about it, but she was pretty sure she was right.

So, she let him kiss and she let him touch, because, God, it was Rick and she'd never denied that he affected her, that she cared about him. That, okay, she might even have a bit of a crush on him. But when it took that turn into 'serious' she pushed him away, because, ironically, that was the only way to keep him...

"Amanda, why don't we call it quits for dinner?" Her convention guide bent to speak in her ear.

Amanda gave her a grateful smile. "I'm starving."

Four hours later, after a long dinner with Chris and Michael and a long elevator ride in which Chris set about to shame her into joining he and Michael on the town, she stepped out into the hallway where her room was located.

"Last chance!" Chris called from the open elevator. His grin was wide and infectious, and he gave her his flirty look. Beside him Michael simply smirked at her in his usual manner.

She hesitated. It was always good to spend time with them, and it had been a while. She felt a little uncharacteristically melancholy today though...

"You guys go on. I'm just not up for it. Have fun."

"You know he'll drag me to a strip club if you don't go," Michael accused, dryly.

She rolled her eyes. "Drag you, will he? Riiiiight!"

Michael smiled, but there was earnestness in his eyes. "We'll go wherever you want. Come on..."

And they would. She knew they would. She shook her head. "Tomorrow, I promise. I'm just tired tonight."

"Feeling okay?" Michael gave her a concerned glance.

She smiled, remembering several days over the years when they'd both come down with the flu at the same time and spent the hours curled up next to each other in one of their trailers, feeling like crap and drawing comfort from each other. "Yeah. Just tired, really."

"Okay."

They grinned at her in goodbye and disappeared behind the closing elevator doors. She shook her head and walked to her room. It was a relief just to walk into the silent, private space, and she locked the door behind her and then leaned against it, just breathing.

Finally, a few hours to herself. She headed for the shower first.

She loved cons, but they could be tiring at best. Scary at worst. There was nothing like a con to make your ego soar, or to send it into the basement with the rest of your personal baggage. She'd long ago learned to do these things with one hand tied behind her back, so to speak. But it was always more fun with friends, and it could be downright exhausting in the best of ways when the three of them were together.

She always tried to keep her con days on an even keel. Michael tended to waver between embracing the adoration and growing snappish because of it. Chris... just never stopped going, period. And while he and Michael were still joined at the hip, she'd long since managed to gain some semblance of independence. Chris would overwhelm you if you let him. Michael didn't mind it, but she needed some space, and, if she was being honest, friendship with Rick sort of demanded both effort and attention. Michael and Chris were much more laid back about it all. She could skip a weekend call or not see them for a month, and it would be the same as always next time they met. But Rick... Yeah, not so much.

It felt good to wash the day off of her, and the long shower did much to rejuvenate her flagging energy. She settled herself in the middle of the bed with the TV on and laughed when she saw Stargate was on. Friday nights, that’s right. She watched for a while, but then turned to the news. An hour and a half later, she was dozing when her cell phone beeped, startling her. She pushed aside the dread that it might be her agent with more scheduling conflicts. With a groan she propelled herself off of the bed to grab her phone from the table.

Instead, it was text from Chris. He'd sent her a picture, and she grinned as the photo unraveled on her screen to show Michael smiling, slightly tipsy, next to a gigantic pair of breasts. Obviously they'd gone the strip club route, and she was suddenly relieved that she'd passed up the chance to go out with them. She was normally willing to spend plenty of time with Michael, but it was impossible to keep up with Chris. She only rarely put herself in his hands for an evening.

She glanced around, trying to decide how to answer the text. Flipping her laptop open, she called up the home page for Trojan condoms, snapped a picture of it with her phone and sent it back to Chris with a roll of her eyes. She could almost hear Chris's gregarious giggling as he showed the picture to Michael in the club. Mike would likely be a pain in the ass tomorrow, but it'd be worth it.

She smirked when her cell phone trilled only moments later. She answered it with cheerful sarcasm. "I really don't want to hear about your skanky-club bathroom sex!"

"Well. If that's the way you feel about it. I'm hurt, Tapping."

She froze. Definitely not Chris. "Rick?"

"You were expecting someone else? What the hell goes on at those conventions of yours?" His voice was amused.

She smiled, wincing a little bit. "Ummm, sorry. It's been a long day, and I was supposed to go out with Chris and Michael, and..." She sighed.

"Ah," he quipped. "Christopher and Michael. Say no more then."

There was a slight edge to his tone, just the barest hint of irritation. He still clung to the belief that she and Michael had hooked up sometime during the first few seasons, and it seemed he couldn't be convinced otherwise. Not that she tried. It wasn't any of his business, frankly. Not when he'd gone from one woman to the next in the space of weeks. She tilted her head, sinking down to sit on the side of the bed. "So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

She could almost hear his eyebrows arching upward.

"I can't call you when I'm bored?"

"Yes, that's just usually not at midnight on a Friday night."

"It's only ten here." He paused. "And I missed you."

She ignored the little thrill that ran down through her limbs at that idea. Oh, hell no. Don't break now, she thought. "We start filming again in a few weeks."

"Yes, well..."

She slid up onto the bed and sank down into a relaxed heap, staring up at the curiously and sharply plastered ceiling. It looked like a white thorn field. "You should do one of these conventions sometime, you know. They really love you." She said the last thing quietly, seriously, knowing he’d never go for it. He’d had his experiences with fame on a far bigger scale then any of them had known, or likely would know. The vibe she got from him, and the bare hint of her own fame, conspired to tell her one thing—it was scary as hell.

He huffed out a light laugh into the phone. "They just don't realize how boring I am." He hesitated, and then, "Long day?"

"Oh yeah, it's always an emotional kick."

"Is that good or bad?"

She thought about that. "Both."

"A lot of fans who want Sam to marry Jack?"

She sighed tiredly. "Half of them will only be happy when there's a big sex scene between Sam and Jack. The other half wants to crucify me so Jack can get it on with Daniel. The third half couldn't care less and just want everyone to shut up."

"Three halves? You're silly."

"Fan logic is not our logic."

"I wish I was there." He was as quiet as she'd just been, and the huskiness of his voice was far hotter than it had any right to be.

"You do not." She swallowed, hard.

"Well, I don't think I'd be up for the stage work, but I wish I was there for a visit.” He paused. “Like it was in Burbank."

Burbank. Ah. Damn. He hadn't actually worked the con--he never did conventions, ever--but he'd snuck over from Malibu to meet up with them during the hiatus last season. They'd gone out the first night, all four of them and Chris's latest girl, and proceeded to get wild until the wee hours. It’d been easy and fun and they’d closed ranks around Rick, protecting him from his devoted public that always seemed to find him, regardless of the fact that he was no longer part of the hard-rolling Hollywood machine.

She'd drunk much more than usual and been nearly as rowdy as Chris, much to his satisfaction. Rick had never been a big drinker though, and it wasn't until she and Michael were clinging to each other as life support, trying to walk without staggering, that she realized Rick was still straight as an arrow. He'd been interspersing coffee and soda between the beers, and his eyes were still clear and alert as he focused on her from across the table of their last bar. He'd looked rather amused as she'd blinked at him, and then Michael's head had hit her shoulder with a snore. She'd grinned sheepishly back at him through bleary eyes, and he'd stroked lean fingers across his thin lips in a blatantly sexual and assessing manner, eyes piercing and fixed on her. She'd felt every ounce of that gaze. It was much heavier than anything he slid her way on the set.

The next night they'd stayed in, much to Chris's frustration. But Michael was prickly and contrary, and she was just plain tired and a little sick. They'd watched TV and talked and sipped at some weak screwdrivers, because the orange juice tasted good and was hydrating. She'd felt warm and pleasantly numb when Chris and Michael had left for their own rooms. Rick had stayed, stretching out beside her on the king bed, hands folded beneath his head as he watched Sportscenter for the latest hockey scores.

She'd been cold in the frigid breeze of the air conditioner, turned on to battle the hot, humid California night, and she'd turned on her side towards him. He'd given her a lazy smile.

"You cold?"

"Mmm."

He'd shifted and reached for her, and she'd slid ungracefully up against his side, resting her head on his chest. It'd been warm and relaxing. He'd stroked her back absently, and for the first time she'd really weakened. She'd been tired and a little homesick, and he was familiar and comforting. She'd expected him to kiss her--he always did--but she hadn't expected her own reaction. Physically she'd always broken a little bit for him, but even her mind was shredding red flags left and right. She'd kissed him eagerly and then slid a hand up under his shirt, and thought, "Well, it was nice while it lasted."

What she'd never seen coming was the way he'd finally broken the kiss and swallowed and took a deep breath. "We're tired. Let's just go to sleep."

She'd stared at him, astonished. He'd waited. She'd processed it. If anyone had a physical 'type' of woman, it was Rick, and she definitely wasn't it, but still... She'd lifted a hand to her face and blown out a breath against her palm, sniffing to check her breath. Against her, Rick's chest shook a bit as he laughed silently. "It's not your breath, smooth operator."

"I don't get it then."

He'd pressed his lips briefly to her forehead and settled back with a sigh. "Nothing to get. I want to, believe me. I just think you're tired, and I'm tired, and, you know, now's not the time."

She'd resolved herself to the fact that she wasn't going to be having sex that night. "Okay."

He'd pulled her close again, and she'd curled into his warmth, still a bit confused but feeling greatly pacified. "You're not feeling like yourself tonight," he'd added, quietly.

He'd pulled the bedspread up around them, and they'd slept the rest of the night with the TV on low, its light flickering over them each time she woke and shifted in his embrace.

"Hey," Rick's voice in her ear brought her back to the phone conversation. "You still there?"

"Yeah, I was just... thinking."

"About what?" he asked suspiciously.

"Burbank," she answered.

He gave a wistful sigh. "That's one night I wish I could live again. I'd do things a lot differently."

She was silent.

"What?" he prompted her.

"I don't think you would," she said. She slid her bare feet under the blankets of her bed, trying to warm them.

"What are you talking about?"

She smiled slightly and re-settled the phone against her ear. "I completely gave up that night, and you freaked out and brought it all to a halt."

"I didn't 'freak out'," he insisted a little grumpily.

"You so freaked out," she teased him. "Because you know exactly why I keep refusing you, and you believe it too. And you don't want that to happen either."

He was silent for a long moment.

"Gotcha," she exclaimed, softly and seriously.

He gave a quiet chuckle. "What can I say? You're my Olivia De Havilland, Amanda."

"What? That actress from Gone With The Wind?" She shouldn't really be this surprised at Rick's non-sequiturs these days, should she? How did he always manage to keep her guessing?

"Well, yes, although that particular movie has nothing to do with it. You ever see Robin Hood with Errol Flynn?"

"Yeah, I vaguely remember it in black and white when I was a kid."

"She was routinely teamed up with Errol Flynn in the beginning of her career. They were quite the popular onscreen couple. Had a thing for each other in real life too, but they never quite made the connection. She was thought of as a 'good girl', at least in his mind."

"Ahh." She grinned at the ceiling. "And Errol was a bad, bad boy."

"Read his autobiography. She was The One That Got Away."

"Hmm." Amanda thought about that. "And he was the one who wore tights, right?"

"Funny," he drawled, wryly. And then, more sober, "I don't want this to happen because I wore you down and you're just looking for relief. I want you to... be there... for me."

His neediness amazed her sometimes. "I will be," she stated. "But I'm not made of stone."

He gave a quiet laugh. "Sure would be easier if you were."

"Don't I know it." Her phone gave a quiet beep.

"What was that?"

"Low battery. I'm going to have to leave you now."

"Aww." His tone was quietly seductive, and she could almost see those glittering eyes through the phone.

"See you in a few weeks?" she prompted.

"Of course. Don't let Chris and Michael drag you into trouble."

"Oh, I can handle them..." The implication of who she couldn't necessarily handle was left hanging.

"Sleep tight."

"Bye."

She stared at the ceiling for a few long moments after hanging up, feeling oddly rejuvenated. Complicated didn't begin to explain the relationship between all of them, especially where Rick was involved, but she was rather surprised at how eagerly she embraced it all.

With a sigh she got up to plug her phone into its charger. She was heading back to the bed when she hesitated. A quick search on Amazon. com brought it up, and she smirked at the title.

My Wicked, Wicked Ways by Errol Flynn.

The reviews marked it a mix of reality and fiction, but a 'rollicking, fun ride!'

Indeed! she thought, borrowing a line from Chris's character. She placed the order with a mixture of wistful envy and amusement.

It would be there for her when she got home.

~end~


End file.
